1 Year, 2 Days and 16 Hours
by aedy
Summary: If someone were to ask John how he was doing his answer would be that yes, thank you, I'm getting over it.


_**A/N**: This is the first time I write for this fandom and I hope this won't be too bad._

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><p><em>1 Year, 2 Days and 16 Hours<em>

If someone were to ask John how he was doing his answer would be that yes, thank you, I'm getting over it because it has been a year and he has picked himself up, dusted off his clothes and kept on walking and how many times has he seen death before, anyway? He was a war doctor after all, he knew all about loss and how it affects people's lives.

But he's doing fine, that's what he'd tell if you were to ask, because he hadn't known Sherlock for long. The only person who would have known he was lying was dead and his therapist knew but had no idea on how to connect with John because even when it was just about his leg, it had been Sherlock who had helped.

_1 Year, 3 Weeks, 6 Days and 23 Hours_

He's not counting, that would be absurd, it's just that the first post he wrote about Sherlock's death has a date and sometimes his eyes fall on it, that's all, really. His life is still moving forward, the world is still turning and the whispers about Sherlock Holmes' death have long since faded away.

John swipes away the dust and the dirty from the grave with his hands and doesn't care about getting his trousers stained when he cleans his hands over them. He lays down a flower and then slides his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Another day, Sherlock," he whispers and then just stands there for a moment longer, his eyes moving over the letters, a stark contrast against the black of the marble. Then he turns around and walks away.

_1 year, 6 months, 3 weeks and 12 hours_

He closes his laptop and looks up and Sherlock is standing there in the doorway, wearing his long coat and his scarf. He blinks slowly and opens his mouth as if to call his name and then shuts up. He was sure that if he were to ever have hallucinations, they would have been closer to Sherlock's death when the aching was unbearable. But he's a doctor and he's not going to give into this. He opens his laptop again and ignores Sherlock's words asking, _Hey, John. How have you been? _

_1 year, 6 months, 3 weeks and 1 day_

"I know you must be angry and hurt but I didn't have any other way. This is was so I could protect you." Sherlock sighs and leans back closing his eyes for a moment. He knew it was going to be hard but John isn't even letting him explain; worse yet, he's not listening to him. "John?" he tries again but his friend doesn't look up from his diary and Sherlock gives up getting to his feet and going in search of Mrs. Hudson.

John watches out of the corner of his eye the hallucination or ghost or whatever it is walking out of their flat, _his_ flat he corrects quickly in his mind, and wonders if perhaps he should talk about it with his therapist.

_1 year, 6 months, 3 weeks and 5 days_

"John, how are you?" Mrs. Hudson sits down in the armchair and looks at him with a look that is a mixture of sympathy and determination.

"I'm good, Mrs. Hudson, thank you for asking." His fingers type quickly, an angry letter to Sherlock about how unfair it is of him to just show up and prattle away about being away and being sorry and now he's back and can they please just move on?

"John, I wanted to stay out of it but I saw what this year and a half has done to you and I think it's time you let it go."

John nods distractedly just like he does every time they have this conversation and focuses instead on what he has written. A moment later he deletes what he has written and slams his laptop shut. He gets up and gets his jacket and he's almost at the door when Mrs. Hudson's words register in his brain.

"He asked me to stay out of it and give you space so I did it and I didn't speak to you in the last week but John, you two should talk it out. It's so saddening to see such a beautiful," she pauses as if looking for the right word before saying, "friendship going to waste." She sighs heavily once again and raises from the armchair coming to stand next to John to place a hand on his arm. "He's so very sorry and I saw you when we thought he was dead. You took it worse than anyone else. You have another chance, use it." She pats his arm a few times and then starts to descend the stairs.

"Wait." It doesn't make sense and John wonders if everybody is going crazy. "What are you talking about?"

"About you and Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson answers, her voice stern. She stops and turns back a little. "He's sorry. Hear him out, we all know he's not perfect but we do love him nonetheless."

"You mean you saw him?"

"Of course I saw him," she says, moving her head from side to side. "I'm a bit old but I'm not dumb, Mr. Watson." She tilts her chin upward and disappears down the stairs leaving John feeling completely confused.

_1 year, 6 months, 3 weeks and 5 days and 3 hours_

John is sitting in his armchair in the darkness when Sherlock opens the door and walks inside their flat. He greets John distractedly and continues toward his room only to stop in his tracks when John says, "I thought you were a ghost."

"Excuse me?" Sherlock turns around and walks back into the sitting room. "A ghost?"

"You just turned up completely out of the blue and…" John shakes his head and stands up and walks over to stand in front of Sherlock. "You're alive."

"I've been trying to talk to you for the last week, John, but you wouldn't listen. I thought you'd have million of questions, you always have questions and there's always something you don't understand and you're there asking about it but this time you just didn't pay attention. Well," Sherlock shrugs and nods, "you never pay attention."

"You're alive," John repeats and then starts laughing a bit hysterically, his shoulders shaking and his hands running all over his face.

"John?"

And then John stops laughing, closes his hand into a fist and punches Sherlock in the jaw sending him stumbling backwards.

"I guess I could have expected that," Sherlock says, his hand massaging his aching face. And he's about to say something else when John moves forward and grasps Sherlock's coat and pulls him into a hug tight enough to make a few of Sherlock's bones pop.

John thinks that no matter how much he'd like to yell, this feels as if he's finally out of the water, it's like taking your first breath after being afraid of drowning, and now he can ask all the questions again because there's someone who will have the answers.


End file.
